


Hit me (with your best shot)

by withered



Series: In another life [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sweet Bucky Barnes, Switching, Tony is a Disaster, love at first fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: “Still with me, doll?” The Sarge teases, flashing thoseeyesat him, and Tony’sweak, okay?Ever since the Sarge had approached him in the kitchen of the frat house; all cocksure swagger and smoky, sweet drawl; asking Tony with a sparkle in hisblueblueeyes, "Can I get you something to drink, darlin'?" Tony had been a goner.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: In another life [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/927108
Comments: 30
Kudos: 660





	Hit me (with your best shot)

**Author's Note:**

> A request by Anon on tumblr

“What’s going on in that big beautiful brain of yours, darlin’?”

Tony. Does not sleep around.

Rendezvous in poorly lit club bathrooms don’t count, and even if they did, it’s not like Tony’s signed up to join a monastery by attending MIT. Tony’s had sex, okay? All kinds. They just. Usually don’t involve beds. Or morning afters. Or hell, last longer than a couple of hours. Give or take. And, not to be a That Guy, but some encounters don’t even involve _names_ which. _He knows how that sounds_ but while he’s always tried to at least get some kind of identification - if only to know what name to moan - one is not always forthcoming when his chosen partners were much more concerned with getting the edge off than proper introductions. Especially given that those encounters, no matter how good, never resulted in a second.

But, it’s MIT. It’s high-pressure shit. Tony gets it. He does. The culture is self-perpetuating, but not the point he’s trying to make.

Wait.

What was the point he was trying to make?

A lightning bolt of pleasure shoots deliciously down his spine, and Tony shudders, thighs twitching where they’re being held open in the grasp of a single metal-warm hand and another flesh one. At the tease of a hint of stubble, followed by the lush, wet slide against his hole; his dick weeps against the mattress, and Tony’s arms almost give out from under him in his surprise.

He doesn’t even bother to smother his whimper, and at that, the Sarge – as Tony’s taken to calling him considering the guy’s costume at the frat party, and god, the things Tony’s done to that man while he was still in uniform – hums his approval; squeezing Tony’s cheeks as he spreads him wider.

For what feels like hours, Tony luxuriates in the attention; growing so pliant and giving that he’s more sensation than person until he feels altogether _too much_. It's the telltale shiver, and the accompanying heat that pools at the base of his spine liquifying it vertebrae by vertebrae before he’s groaning; rocking just shy of the mattress and begging brokenly, “Please, god. F-fuck - I’m gonna - Sarge, you gotta -”

Which only led to the Sarge working more insistently, sloppy and filthy, until Tony is coming without a hand on his dick and a tongue in his ass. And it’s. It’s not fucking right. He isn’t seventeen anymore, Tony internally scolds himself once he’s been reduced to nothing but a puddle of molten muscle over the wet spot he’d made.

It’s gross but like. Worth it.

Tony isn’t actually complaining here.

Not when the Sarge hums again, trails lingering kisses up Tony’s back before slowly withdrawing.

And Tony hates this part.

He doesn’t do morning afters. But morning sex before getting kicked out he’s experienced plenty of when he’d been younger and more naive. And right now, he can barely remember his name, let alone gather his wits about him to get up and leave. The thought alone makes him want to cry. As does the sweet ache of several hours spent well-loved.

Now he remembers why he doesn’t sleep around. And oh, yeah! That was the point he was trying to make!

Because Tony, see, he’s a genius. Always has been. But his speed is numbers; mechanics. Not people. Because people are hard. And Tony gets attached. And that’s. Well. He usually avoids it by never going home with anyone to risk it. Except he’d made an exception this time because –

“Still with me, doll?” The Sarge teases, gently easing Tony onto his back and off the wet spot, flashing those _eyes_ at him, and Tony’s _weak_ , okay?

Ever since the Sarge had approached him in the kitchen of the frat house; all cocksure swagger and smoky, sweet drawl; asking Tony with a sparkle in his _blueblue_ eyes, "Can I get you something to drink, darlin'?" Tony had been a goner.

It hadn't even taken twenty minutes before he'd had the other man against a bathroom door, watching the Sarge watch him as the metal fingers of his prosthetic scratched at Tony's scalp before tightening around his hair and _tugging._

The party beyond was drowned out by the obscene noises of the Sarge jerking them both, rough and slick with nothing but spit and pre as his teeth grazed Tony's neck like a claim; lost to the sounds of their wordless moans and hitching breathes before he'd sealed their lips together and drank his fill until Tony was dumb with it. 

It hadn't taken much after that for the Sarge to coax Tony to his bed.

Not when the Sarge had thrust back into the tease of Tony's thumb circling his hole between Tony's experimental squeezing of his bubble butt, and drawled, "You can do me and I can do you?" And really, Tony's not one to turn down that kind of deal.

The Sarge chuckles, taking pity on the glazed look in Tony's eye, and starting to clean the mess off him with a wet cloth he must’ve gotten up to get. He's cursory enough in his movements, though Tony doesn’t miss the way the Sarge lingers: Flesh and metal fingers both seemingly drawn to the lovely little bruises at Tony's hips, the subtle V of his abdomen and the treasure trail of dark hair. His gaze darkening as he worries his plump, lower lip; his mouth a tantalizingly distracting red that matches the impressive head from the piece of equipment that kicks at the Sarge’s stomach for attention.

Like they’re connected by the same string, Tony’s gripping at his flank and squeezing, a tug here, a circle of his thumb there; looking up at the Sarge beneath a flutter of his lashes with an inviting swipe of his tongue across his lips: his message is clear.

The Sarge purrs, decadence personified, “You’re real sweet, darlin’.”

Tony flushes pink at the praise; eyes brightening in anticipation as the Sarge complies; straddling his chest and feeding him his dick, murmuring breathlessly how pretty his darlin’ looks; how good he is, how perfect.

It’s an hour, and another orgasm for Tony; coaxed lazily and languidly as the Sarge had mouthed at his neck and flicked at his nipples. Plus a nap on top of that before he has to face the reality of leaving again.

He doesn’t want to. But Tony’s pretty sure his dick will break if they keep at it, and while he's used to bottoming, the Sarge isn't exactly _average_ in any capacity.

Besides. It’s best not to overstay his welcome and risk ruining this by being. Well. Himself.

The Sarge had been nice enough to even let him leave without witnesses. Tony should be grateful, but he feels stupidly abandoned at waking up alone.

Just as he’s propped himself up on an elbow to wonder where his clothes are, and whether he has time to sneak a shower before he does his walk of shame; the bedroom door opens and the Sarge is waltzing in.

He’s not wearing the costume anymore, but he looks just as delicious in dark jeans and a t-shirt.

Before Tony can apologize for not having left yet, the smell of coffee coming from the two styrofoam cups in each of the Sarge’s hands hits him, and Tony’s staring at him blankly.

For all his bravado in bed, the smile the Sarge flashes him is shy. “Sorry, I ran out; I hope you weren’t awake for too long. I didn’t have much of anything in my apartment and I just figured.” He wiggles the takeaway coffee in explanation, then, “I…uh, didn’t know how you took it, hope black is okay? Or, I…can go out and get sugar and milk? It’ll take like ten minutes though, the bodega around the corner is closed so I had to go around the block, but I can –”

“Marry me,” Tony blurts.

And. That’s. Uh. Has Tony mentioned that he’s bad at the people thing? Because.

At the Sarge’s stunned expression, Tony stammers, “No, wait. Uh. Just. God, ignore me. I’m pretty sure you broke my brain with the whole you-know…and coffee’s really good. Thank you. Thanks -”

“James."

Still flustered and trying to collect himself and not totally ruin everything, Tony doesn’t catch on, “Wha?”

“James,” the Sarge repeats. With a wry smile, he adds, “Figured you should know the name of the guy you’re marrying.”

And that. That works for Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea if this counted more as E or M, so I went for the safe option and rated it E just in case. Also, idk, I really like this?? I'm very tempted to continue, though god knows if I've got the juice to write anything long term atm so let's just consider this fic complete until it isn't mm'kay?
> 
> [Spread the word](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/post/190812224001/love-at-first-fuck-au-mittony-wakes-up-with-a)


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